


Little and Broken

by Lauralot



Series: Alexander Pierce should have died slower [29]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Dementia, Gen, Guilt, Non-Sexual Age Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-17 18:48:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9338177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lauralot/pseuds/Lauralot
Summary: Sometimes familiarity hurts more than it helps.Bucky tries to help Steve through that.





	

**This is my family. I found it all on my own. It's little and broken, but still good. Yeah. Still good.**  
— Stitch, _Lilo and Stitch_

  


The room’s covered in red.

Bucky shuts his eyes, waiting for the pounding in his chest to stop. It’s not all red, not really, just the places on the ceiling and walls where his nightlight makes constellations, but when he has nightmares about HYDRA, sometimes everything seems bloody when he wakes up.

He’s not sure if this dream was about HYDRA or about the trial. He still has nightmares like that sometimes, where the judge says “Guilty” and Steve gets himself shot trying to pull Bucky away from the police. It’s not unusual for the dreams go away as soon as he opens his eyes, but seeing the bed and his hands all red doesn’t help his heart slow down.

Jane said that red is the color least disruptive to sleep, when she and Thor gave Bucky the nightlight. He guesses that’s true. It’s only the waking that’s ever a problem.

There’s a twinge of guilt in his stomach, a flush of shame because Jane and Thor had the light made special for him, and here he is insulting it. But that’s stupid; he’s just had a nightmare and he loves looking up at the unfamiliar stars when he can’t sleep. He’s not going to hassle himself for being unsettled after a bad dream. Bucky’s heart is still hammering, and he refuses to add to that stress.

Turning on his side, Bucky reaches out for the bear bottle on the nightstand. It’s made of one of Pepper’s old spice containers, full of clear hair gel and a stack of small plastic bears. The bears used to be one solid color each, but now the red one up toward the lid of the bottle has gold lines and plates, like Tony’s armor. The orange bear beneath him has a black body with a red hourglass in the middle of her stomach, and the third bear, yellow, wears a painted suit of red, white, and blue. There’s a green bear with purple pants, a blue bear painted up like the Iron Patriot, a purple bear with a big H for Hawkeye on his chest, and a black bear with red goggles. The very last bear is yellow again. He has a cape made out of some rubbery-looking material. Bucky’s not sure what it is.

Steve made the bear bottle.

It’s what Bruce calls a sensory bottle. He was the first one to introduce Bucky to the idea, one day in the lab while the trial was going on, when Bucky was too wound up with shame and fear to go to sleep. The bottles he made with Bruce were full of confetti stars and glitter and colored water. Steve had come in to try and read Bucky a story, coax him up to bed, but he’d ended up settling between them and watching as Bucky stared transfixed at the stars floating around when Bruce tilted the bottle.

Bucky’s not sure when the bear bottle showed up in his room. It might even have been there for days before he saw it, too stressed and sleep-deprived to notice. He remembers hugging Steve after he first saw it, though.

Unlike Bruce’s star bottle, the bears don’t drift around. Sometimes the air bubbles in the container shift if he tilts it, but Bucky usually doesn’t do that. He just holds on as tight as he can without cracking the plastic, staring at the bears inside. They’re always there, unchanging, whenever he needs to settle himself. Reminding him of where he is. Probably not something Steve planned when he made the bottle, but it helps.

Once Bucky’s heart is steady again, he lets out a slow breath and looks up from the bears for the first time since he picked them up. He’s been breathing on a count of ten, like his doctors always suggest. Usually when he counts, he hears the numbers in the Worths’ voices, or Steve’s, since they’d all counted with him for months until he mastered the habit of doing it automatically, mostly. Lately, unless he’s wound to the snapping point, Bucky doesn’t have to count at all; his body just knows the rhythm.

His eyes have adjusted to the dark and the red now. The bedroom’s always been sparsely decorated. At first, Bucky was only the Soldier, unable to decide what he preferred without a handler to make the choice for him. Later, his adult mindset was too embarrassed by any cutesy wallpaper or character bed sheets that his little side would love. It’s only in the past few months that any real personal touches have crept into the room.

The bedspread _is_ bear-themed now, black bear silhouettes on khaki and deep red. It was Sam’s idea; he’d gone on a weekend retreat to a cabin with some of his VA friends, and these were the kind of duvets on the bed there. It’s kid-friendly enough to captivate his imagination when he’s five and subdued enough that if the paparazzi ever somehow overpowered JARVIS, the Avengers, and the Iron Legion to get in here, he wouldn’t be humiliated at the leaked photos.

Not that reporters could ever slip in here. More likely, Darcy would visit and put everything on Instagram.

Bucky Bear rests in the crook of Bucky’s left arm, still fixated on the little bears in the bottle. Steve had assured him that plastic bears could breathe through hair gel and osmose from it, but even so, Bucky Bear likes to keep an eye on things. The rest of the Bearvengers are lined up at the foot of the bed, Hawkbear and Bear Widow beside each other, and Iron Bear and Captain Ameribear separated by both Thor Bear and War Machine Bear so there won’t be any arguing.

The cedar bird charm that Natasha gave him for Christmas hangs from the ceiling just in front of the doorway. Everyone who comes in passes under it, which Bucky thinks has to guarantee at least some happiness. On the far wall from the bed hang the pictures that Steve gave to him: Bucky’s dad, Bucky’s mom holding him, and Bucky with his sisters. The room is still dark enough that Bucky remembers the photographs more than he sees them, but he remembers perfectly.

“That was then,” he whispers. There’s another set of photos on the wall beside him, just a little higher than eye level when he’s sitting on the bed. Bucky sitting between Becca and Jo at the zoo, a giraffe in the distance behind them. Steve putting Mickey Mouse ears on Bucky’s head at Disney. Tasha, Bucky, and Clint covered in pumpkin gunk from making jack-o-lanterns at the Halloween party in the tower. And everybody gathered around the Christmas tree in their pajamas.

Bucky’s fingers find his bear’s nose, rubbing against the silky threads. “This is now.”

It’s not exactly a mantra the Worths taught him, but finding things that remind him of where and when he is was one of their suggestions for grounding himself in reality. This is now. There’s no more trial and HYDRA’s not in the tower. There’s just bears and bottles and friends.

He sets the bear bottle back onto the nightstand, pulling Bucky Bear closer as he lays back against his pillows. Little red Asgardian stars dot the ceiling, but Bucky’s too tired to try and make himself remember the names of the constellations that Thor had taught him. Besides, he needs to sleep. Steve’s driving to visit Peggy tomorrow, and Bucky wants to be awake so Steve won’t have to navigate the interstate in silence.

“This is now,” he mumbles to Bucky Bear, letting his eyes slip shut.

*

There’s a pitcher of lemonade and some cookies on a table in the lobby, right next to where everybody signs in, but Bucky doesn’t take them. The lemonade is always lukewarm and too sugary, and the cookies are always hard. He remembers that from his first visit.

The first time, he and Bucky Bear had waited on this same couch while Daddy made sure Peggy remembered Bucky was alive and coming to visit her and that sometimes he was little. But on the visits since then—they come here once a month, although once they were a week late because of the ducklings needing constant supervision—he’s been able to come into the room straightaway because he promised Steve he wouldn’t feel hurt or scared if Peggy didn’t recognize him. He understands what it’s like not to remember people.

Peggy’s always recognized him so far, even if it takes a while. Maybe his hand is weird enough to stick in her mind, or maybe Steve talked about him to her so much that she can’t forget. She’d remembered him today, too.

“It’s good to see you again, Bucky,” she’d said as soon as he came through the door. “And your bear, of course.”

Bucky had handed Bucky Bear to her so that she could hug him hello. This was Bucky Bear’s favorite part of the visits, because he really liked the smell of the shampoo Peggy used. She said it was honeysuckle-scented the one time Bucky had asked about it, and Daddy had said that made a lot of sense.

“He says he’s happy to see you too,” Bucky had said. “How are you? Can I get you anything?”

“Oh, sit down and stop your fussing.” Peggy had handed the bear back to him. “I’m in perfectly capable hands here, there’s no need for you to go running yourself ragged on my account. Now, how is that niece of yours doing? The one who was on television?”

That was Laura, who had a new leg from Stark Industries and who’d been in a commercial for their prosthetic limb initiative. It aired on TV last week, although Bucky had seen it sooner, when the final print got sent to Pepper and Tony for review. “She’s good,” he’d said. “She says people keep recognizing her when she goes out and they ask her if she got to meet Iron Man.”

Peggy had remembered the ducklings too—Bucky had shown her pictures of them on his phone at the last visit, from back when the ducklings had been in the tower, having a movie night with him and Tasha—and asked about them, and asked how his violet plant was doing. She’d remembered everything.

Except Daddy.

Daddy hadn’t come in right away; he’d gotten to know the nurses at the front desk, and he’d been talking to one of them about how Peggy had been doing. There was a lot of stuff they couldn’t tell him because of patient confidentiality rules, but they could let him know how she’d been feeling lately and things like that. He’d come into the room when Peggy was telling Bucky about a visit from her niece, and Peggy had looked up at him, confused.

“You must have the wrong room, young man,” she’d said. “My physical therapy was yesterday.”

Daddy’s said that sometimes when he visits, Peggy’s forgotten he was ever out of the ice. This is the first time Bucky’s ever heard about her forgetting Daddy completely.

And judging from how wet Daddy’s eyes had got, that was the first time it had happened at all.

“That’s Steve,” Bucky had said gently, the way Sam used to introduce the other Avengers if the Soldier forgot who they were. “He’s here to visit you too.”

“Why? I don’t give interviews without prior discussion and I’m certainly not interested in any religion being peddled. I trust he can show himself out just as he showed himself in.”

“He’s a friend.” Bucky’s throat felt so heavy and tight, eyes stinging. He couldn’t cry. That would scare Peggy and Daddy probably wouldn’t be able to hold back his own tears. “He—he’s your friend too. I’ll be right back, I—I need the bathroom.”

And then he was gone, sniffling to himself in the bathroom stall like a _baby,_ like he didn’t already know Peggy forgot stuff. And Daddy was alone with Peggy, and they must both be getting more and more upset.

Bucky’s on a couch in the lobby now. It’s light green and has all kinds of pale flowers in the fabric. Bucky Bear suggests that Bucky try and identify every flower so he can calm down. Bucky can’t go back into the room until it doesn’t look like he’s been crying anymore, but every second he sits out here, all he can think about is how sad Daddy and Peggy must be, and that just makes him want to cry all over again.

He takes a slow breath in. The red flowers are roses. They’re easy. The white flowers are daisies. But he doesn’t know about the yellow flowers or the blue ones. The yellow ones might be mums, but Bucky Bear says they could also be carnations, and Bucky can’t think of any big blue flowers. Maybe they’re made up.

“Hey, Buck.”

It’s Daddy. Bucky was so focused on the flowers, he didn’t even hear Daddy walk in. Daddy’s eyes are still wet and his face is blotchy. He sniffs, sitting down beside Bucky. Bucky Bear’s squeezed between them.

“Is Peggy okay?” Bucky’s voice is thick and whispery.

“She recognized me,” Daddy says. He breathes out so hard and fast that Bucky can’t help but jump. “It took a minute, but...” He bites his lip. “She was so upset that she’d forgotten and I tried to calm her down, but I think I just made it worse. I—”

Daddy shakes his head, pressing his hands hard against his face like he can hold in his tears. His shoulders are shaking, and he’s breathing so hard it makes Bucky Bear vibrate.

“It’s—” Bucky stumbles over the words. He can’t say it’s okay, because it’s _not._ Daddy’s trying not to cry and Peggy’s probably crying in her room. Bucky Bear’s the only one who isn’t on the verge of tears, but Daddy doesn’t speak Bear. Bucky has to be the one to help.

The last time he’d seen Daddy really upset, after a bad nightmare, it’s like the big part of Bucky’s brain had kicked in right away, knowing what to say and do. That doesn’t happen this time. The words from last night keep running through his head— _that was then this is now that was then this is now_ —but it’s the _now_ that’s making Daddy sad to begin with him. Reminding him that the world where Peggy was young and never forgot him is gone will only make things worse.

Hugs. Getting hugs when he’s upset always makes Bucky feel better, so automatically, he just reaches out and wraps his arms tight around Daddy. He ends up banging his chin against Daddy’s shoulder, and he feels tears soak into the collar of his shirt, just below where Daddy’s head is. Bucky Bear’s completely squished between them.

It doesn’t work. Daddy’s actually crying now. Still holding on, Bucky sits stiffly, trying to figure out the problem. He feels like the Soldier when a plan falls apart. Hugs help. He’s hugging. Why isn’t the hug working?

“What if I’m just making it worse?” Daddy’s breath is shuddery on Bucky’s throat. “Coming to see her, getting her upset. Maybe this is all just selfish. Selfish and stupid.”

“It’s not!” The words come out so loud that the nurses at the front desk look up. Bucky blushes. He’d hide behind his hair, but that would mean taking his hands off Daddy to brush it over his face. “It’s not,” he says again, quieter.

Daddy doesn’t answer. He’s still breathing like he’s crying.

“It’s not.” Bucky can’t think of anything else to say. Daddy’s miserable and there’s nothing Bucky can do to help, and he feels as useless and scared as he did when Daddy first got him back, when he thought he was supposed to be an asset at the SHIELD hospital.

The SHIELD hospital.

“Remember when you took me to the hospital?” Bucky asks.

Daddy looks up, confused. His face is all red and wet.

“The day you found me,” Bucky says. “You took me to the hospital so you could make sure there wasn’t anything still wrong from when we fought, and they gave me an IV.” They’d said he was dehydrated. They’d said he needed to be debriefed too, but Daddy hadn’t let them do that.

Daddy nods, but his brows are still all drawn together.

“I was really scared.” He doesn’t like hospitals now either; the smells and the white coats reminded him too much of HYDRA’s painful tests. “I thought I’d get hurt. I thought you wanted me to be your Soldier, and you’d be mad at me if I cried or acted scared.”

He’s not even halfway through explaining before Daddy’s eyes are welling up with new tears. “Buck, I’d never—”

“I thought I was being bad and you wouldn’t want me,” Bucky interrupts. “And I was afraid about that, but I would have been so much more afraid of everything without you there.”

Bucky doesn’t know what to do with his arms, if he should keep holding on or if he ought to let go. He settles for sliding one hand down so he can squeeze Bucky Bear’s paw, and Daddy can move if he wants to.

“I needed to go to a hospital,” Bucky says. “I don’t like doctors like that, ones that aren’t like Bruce or the Worths. But I needed the IV and you needed to make sure I didn’t have an infection or broken bones or anything like that. It was scary and it—it sucked, but it was better with you.”

This sucks too. It’s not _fair._ It’s not fair that they both missed everything or that they stayed young when Peggy didn’t or that Peggy can’t remember things now. None of it’s fair. But Peggy’s old and sick and there’s nothing they can do about it, and it’s better that she still has friends than all of them being dead.

“Every time Peggy remembers you, she looks really happy. Like how she looked at you in the war. She’s happy when you’re here, and even when she doesn’t know you, she’s still not alone. None of this is your fault, Daddy. It’s not your fault she can’t remember or that I couldn’t. You’re helping. Even when everything feels bad.”

It’s Daddy who moves first, pulling Bucky into a hug so tight and fast that it knocks the air out of him. He’s trying to catch his breath and Bucky Bear is complaining loudly about the constant squashing, but it feels like Daddy’s hugging for hours before he lets go.

When Daddy settles back, his face is still all splotchy and wet. But he’s smiling, and Bucky knows it’s a real smile, even if it’s small.

Daddy reaches out, ruffling Bucky’s hair. “Thanks, Bucky. I—I really needed to hear that, thank you. When did you get so good with people?”

“When I remembered I’ve always been better at it than you?” Bucky offers. It gets Steve to laugh. He still needs to talk to his therapist about this, but at least he won’t be crying the whole drive home.

“Yeah, you were.” Steve hauls himself up, finally giving Bucky Bear some breathing room. “So what do you say you help me go back in there and set things right before we head home, okay?”

Bucky nods. He scoops his bear up gently, making sure there’s plenty of space for him, though he can’t resist pressing Bucky Bear’s nose to Steve’s cheek before he settles the bear back in his arms. “Sure thing.”

It’s probably going to hurt, reduce one or both of them to tearing up before they say their goodbyes. Peggy will either be humiliated by the incident when they come in, or she’ll have forgotten it—and maybe them—entirely. But it’s Peggy, and getting to see her now, after everything, is worth the hurt.

**Author's Note:**

> [This](http://i158.photobucket.com/albums/t92/Lauralot/Yuma_Bear_Blanket_5_zpsa1e4dlec.jpg) is Bucky's bedspread.
> 
> The Disney photograph on Bucky's wall is an [illustration](http://thefilthiestpiglet.tumblr.com/post/155857511268/for-the-trashbook-way-back-in-aug-2015-babydraco) by [thefilthiestpiglet](http://thefilthiestpiglet.tumblr.com) for [babydraco](http://archiveofourown.org/users/babydraco/pseuds/babydraco)'s APSHDS tie in fic, [_A Small World After All_](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8704810). Definitely check out both the fic and the artwork if you haven't seen them already; they're both fantastic!
> 
> babydraco's fic also gave me the idea for Bucky's sensory bottles, though the bear bottle specifically was inspired by [this web post](http://www.preschoolinspirations.com/rainbow-counting-bear-discovery-bottle/).
> 
> Bucky comforted Steve after a nightmare in an earlier installment, _[Up Too Late](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6421891)_. In [one of the interlude fics](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3705493/chapters/9208090), Steve took Bucky to a hospital immediately after reuniting with him.


End file.
